The Flip Side (13 page)

“We've been talking more before and after class,” Bobby says.

“Best-friends more?”

He laughs. “No, not that much. But I noticed that whenever he mentions you, he calls you Charlie.”

Inwardly, I cringe. I probably shouldn't have made such a big deal of it when Bobby called me Charlie. I should have just let it go. “Typical older brother stuff. He does it because he knows it irritates me, and now he's just in the habit of it.”

“I get that,” he says. “Siblings can be the worst sometimes.”

“Yes, they can. I hope he's not being a nuisance to you. Where you are concerned, I think he has some serious hero worship going on. He considers you ‘the incredible Bobby Singh.' ”

Bobby winks and opens the door for me. “I am pretty incredible.”

He is, but I'm not going to say that. When he gets into the car, I ask, “Are you picking up Michael and Zoe?”

“No, they're meeting us at Tasty Bites. That's my aunt's place. I thought that would be easier.” As he pulls out into the street, he darts a quick glance at me. “You suggested that they help us because you figured this was a way for them to have a date without it being a date.”

“Yeah. Zoe's mother is pretty set against her dating until she's sixteen too. And that won't happen until July.”

“That was nice of you.”

I shrug. “She really likes Michael.”

“He likes her, too. Obviously.”

We're quiet for a while, but it's not a thick, uncomfortable silence. Maybe because the stereo is on, and the theme to
Rocky
is playing low.

“You like movie sound tracks?” I ask.

“I like the ones that pump me up. I have a playlist that I listen to before I get out on the mat. Kind of like a pep talk. Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No, I like it.” Although, I wonder why he needed a pep talk before arriving at my door. I wonder if this is more than something we're doing because of student council. I understand how helpful music can be to get you into the right mind-set, though. I listen to my favorite songs before competition because I find it calming. “I wouldn't recommend listening to the sound track from
Titanic
before a meet.”

He grins. “Trust me, you won't find that one on my playlist. I go for sound tracks to movies that end victoriously.” He gives me another sideways glance. “Just so you know, there was room on that plank for Jack.”

“But then we wouldn't have cried.”

“You cried?”

“Not as much as Zoe. We saw it in the theater last summer. It was part of a classics series being shown. I'm surprised you've seen it. You know, since it's a little bit of a chick flick.”

“It wasn't my choice,” he says simply, and I hear what he's not saying. He watched it with Kristine.

He pulls into a strip mall and parks near a building with an elegant sign that says
TASTY BITES
. Zoe and Michael are standing outside, holding hands, talking. She is smiling so brightly. I'm happy for her, but I have to admit that I want that someday—to find so much joy in being with a person.

“Hey!” she cries out as we approach. “We were beginning to wonder if you'd set us up for a date and weren't going to show.”

“We got waylaid by Josh,” I admit. “He had some questions for Bobby.”

“Is he thinking of joining the wrestling team?”

I give a short laugh. “No way. He hasn't got a competitive bone in his body.” I seem to be the one who inherited all those. “Okay, not true. He is competitive when it comes to video games. But I don't think he has any interest in athletics. He just thinks it would be cool to hang out with an athlete.” A known athlete. Not one who doesn't tell anyone she's an athlete.

“Bobby gets that a lot,” Michael confirms.

“Josh is harmless,” Bobby says. “Let's see what my aunt has to show us.”

The shop is quaint, with only a few cloth-covered tables. The long length of the display case makes me think that most people must take their orders to go. And everything looks delicious.

“Bobby!” An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair comes out from behind the display case and gives him a hug.

“Hello, Aunt Sasha. These are the friends I told you about.” He introduces us. “Aunt Sasha is married to my dad's older brother.”

“It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Singh,” I say.

“Oh, please, call me Sasha. Bobby tells me you need some refreshments for your prom. Make yourselves comfortable at a table. I have some samples to bring to you.”

“I'll get them for you,” Bobby says to his aunt, and he follows her into the kitchen as the rest of us settle at a table.

“He's introducing you to family,” Zoe whispers to me. “That's a big deal.”

I roll my eyes, shake my head. “We're here because of prom, and that's it.”

The tray Bobby carries out and sets on the table has the cutest little items on it: various pastries, tiny sandwiches, and little egg rolls.

“You want something that people can just pick up and pop into their mouths,” Sasha says. “Nothing messy.”

The cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches are delicious. And the avocado egg rolls are to die for. I'm not sure what's in the teeny tiny flaky turnover, but it's sweet and melts in my mouth.

“We should have all of these,” Zoe says with excitement.

On the one hand I agree. On the other . . .

“They look like a lot of trouble to make,” I say. “How many people are going to be at prom?”

“Four hundred or so,” Bobby says.

I look at Sasha. “That's an awful lot of work.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It's my passion. What's the point of doing something if it's not your passion?”

Gymnastics is my passion. I consider all the hours I devote to it. I can't disagree with her about the hard work being worth it when you love something.

“Besides, I'll give the school a big discount. They'll acknowledge my business. It's good publicity. I'll work up some figures and e-mail them to you.”

I give her my e-mail address and thank her profusely. I can't believe how excited I am about the opportunity to present this as a possibility at the next student council meeting.

When we're all standing outside, I turn to Bobby. “Thank you. That was so easy.”

“Aunt Sasha loves doing it. Now let's go grab some real food.”

•  •  •

I bite into my double-meat cheeseburger. I want to laugh out loud as my taste buds nearly explode with sensations. Warm juice dribbles down my chin. I quickly wipe it up with my napkin. I'll pay for this meal later when it makes me sluggish.

“I thought you were bad only at the movies,” I say to Bobby.

We're sitting across from each other in a booth at the back of the restaurant. Zoe is beside me, Michael across from her.

Bobby takes a sip of his chocolate shake. Guiltily I spoon out some of my strawberry malt. I decide to focus on the calcium I'm getting.

“What I usually eat is not something you offer a girl on a date,” Bobby says with a grin.

My heart rate spikes. “This is a non-date,” I remind him.

“Right. Still not something you offer a girl.”

“Charlotte probably would like it,” Zoe says. “She brings the most boring lunches.”

“I noticed,” Bobby says.

“There's nothing wrong with vegetables. They get a bad rap for no reason.” Although, I'm not sure I'd eat them if I didn't have to.

“I'll take a burger any day,” Michael says.

We move on and talk about movies. Bobby's favorites involve the Avengers. We talk about TV shows. His favorites involve Marvel superheroes.

“I'm sensing a trend here,” I say. “Do you have a secret ambition to be a crime fighter?”

“No, I'm more interested in getting into sports medicine.”

“Really? I'm interested in that too.”

His head jerks back a little, and his brow furrows. “You didn't strike me as being into sports . . . at all.”

I don't want to lie, but I don't want to confess everything either. I drag a fry through the ketchup, stalling, trying to figure out how much isn't too much. And also wondering why I want to share more of myself with him. “I was into gymnastics when I was younger.”

Leaning back, he grins. “I can see that. You have the size and build for it. Why'd you give it up?”

“When I was eight, I broke my ankle.” True. “It's been giving me trouble ever since.” True.

So I haven't exactly lied. I just omitted the complete truth.

“Gymnastics is hard,” Zoe says. “I did it for a couple of years. Until I got too tall.”

I stare at her. “I didn't know that.”

“I wasn't very good. Mostly I got participation ribbons. Although, I suspect those came from my mom and not the actual meet. She's always worrying about my ego.”

“Athletics isn't for everyone,” Michael says. “Someone needs to sit in the stands and cheer us on.”

“I'm definitely up for that,” Zoe says, smiling brightly.

“Bobby's got a big meet coming up,” Michael says.

I look at Bobby, not bothering to hide my confusion. “I thought wrestling season was in the fall.”

“High school wrestling season is. But I go to meets outside of school. I'm training for the Juniors in Fargo.”

“What's ‘Juniors'?” I ask.

“Junior Nationals. I'm trying to qualify for Junior Worlds.”

“You qualified last year,” Michael says. “This year should be a snap.”

Bobby's smile is a slow burn. “No guarantees, man. You know that.”

“This guy's a beast,” Michael says.

“Wow, that sounds serious,” I say.

“Nah, Junior Worlds is just another competition.”

“This guy is too modest,” Michael says. “Only the best in the United States go. Kind of like the Olympics of high-school-age wrestling.”

“Is it like Junior Elite in gymnastics?” I ask, without thinking.

“I have no idea what that is,” Bobby says. “But it sounds about right.”

“Some Junior Elites go to international competitions and represent the United States,” I mumble. I've been to three. Twice I've taken gold on the beam. I've taken a couple of silver and bronze. “It's not quite the Olympics, but they have the opportunity to go to the Olympics later, when they're older.”

“Yeah, that's probably similar,” Bobby says. “If I can make the team, I'll go to an international competition in Brazil.”

“So, you're really good at wrestling,” I say, eager to get the subject back on track. “I mean, this isn't just a hobby or a school sport?”

“No, I train all year-round,” Bobby says, picking up a fry. “It's club wrestling. We're serious.”

My heart pitter-patters. “That's exciting.” And it also means we have a whole lot in common. Maybe I'm not so abnormal after all, for taking a sport so seriously.

“Do you go too?” I ask Michael.

“No, I'm strictly into high school competition only. I enjoy burgers too much.”

“Speaking of,” Bobby begins. He sags back against the bench, pats his stomach. “That was a mistake. I'm just glad I don't have a competition this week. A pound over or under my weight class, and I'd be in trouble.”

I smile at him. “I think you could take anyone on.”

He shakes his head. “No, I'm used to facing guys who weigh a certain amount. I'm pretty good at judging weight distribution, knowing how to unbalance them in my weight class. But outside of that, I'd get clobbered.”

I can't see him getting clobbered, but I like that he's so modest.

“Although, Michael's right. Eating healthy is no fun. I didn't think my spouting off about which foods are good for energy and which are best for repairing or building muscle would interest you. But I spend a lot of time studying what I should eat to remain a lean, mean wrestling machine.”

I give him a big smile. “I'm definitely going to come watch you in competition sometime.”

He grows serious. “I hope you will.”

I imagine what it would feel like to dismount from the balance beam, look up into the stands, and see him sitting there, cheering me on. I'm tempted to confess that I'm an athlete too, that I compete and watch what I eat. That I'm a lean, mean gymnastics machine. He might get it. More than anyone else I've met outside of gymnastics, he might get it.

But things between us would shift. He would look at me differently. And I don't know if I'm ready for that.

On Monday, Zoe catches up with me as I head to my locker right before lunch.

“I had so much fun Saturday night,” she says. “Thanks for arranging it.”

“I had fun too.”

“I don't understand why my mom is so strict about me dating. I'm almost sixteen.”

As I'm opening my locker, I give her a sympathetic glance. “I don't get it either, but my parents are the same way.”

“What. Is. That?” Zoe cries, her gaze zeroing in on something inside my locker.

Following her gaze, I see a scrap of folded paper lying facedown in front of my books.

She snatches it up before I can reach for it. “It's clearly from a boy,” she says.

“How do you know that?” I pinch the note from her fingers, laughing.

“Sorry,” she squeaks. “I got excited. You read it first. Of course you should read it first.”

“How do you know it's from a boy?” I narrow my eyes at her and hold the note in my fist so that I won't give in to the temptation to look at it. “Did you plant this here? Is this a joke?”

“No!” she squeals. “I swear! I'm trained to recognize a note from a boy. See, it's their handwriting, the way they fold stuff. That's definitely a note from a boy.”